Loner's Nation
by Betwixt-Jaws
Summary: A young man's trials of survival in a zombie apocalypse. An early WIP. Just one or two more parts to chapter 1. Should have 'em up soon. Should.


Ch.1

Old Beginnings

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering why things came to be as they are. Why they wander aimlessly during most of their days, and gather in packs at the slightest unnatural sound. Finding himself unable to fall asleep, he motioned and sat at the side of the bed not facing a windowed wall. He had thought it clever, to darkly tint all of the windows in the house, so he could see them, but not they him. Now though, it occurs, that it probably would've been better to just board them up, but knowing where your enemy is pays off in the long-run, and you'll be thankful for it. Or not, life being as it is nowadays, who would be thankful for that? people like him, he considred; the lone wolves, the kind which've never been reallyattached to anyone anyway. But even then, even the most introverted of people begin feeling the despair of loneliness. You begin to miss even the little people you never really knew. Just the characters you meet in everyday life, or rather, used to meet.

He stood up, and made his way to the bathroom. Turned the sink faucet, letting a cool stream of water flow freely. Splashed some in his face, and glanced at the heart shaped hot tub. My father, he thought, always did have a snarky sense of humor. And then there was the door; who installs a glass door for a bathroom? He shook his head and grinned at the memories. "He wanted me to be a survivor... Turns out, I was better than him at it." Lance - his new name was - never did get along too well with his father. "I'm sure he made a good marine." He was thankful that he learned as much as he did before the outbreak. And after.

Going back into the bedroom, he notes the time on the digital clock; five o' seven A.M.

"Hmph. May as well get an early start."

Opening the living room blinds, his head shakes at the shambling cadaver on the side walk. "Just another day at the office. Heh. Always did want to say that."

He nonchalantly picks up his Russian SKS from the window sill, slides open the window, and pokes the barrel through an already present hole in the screen. He takes aim. A sharp crack resonates through the early morn.

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8:21 AM

Rifle slung on shoulder, and a trenchspike in one hand, flashlight in the other, he carefully steps through one of the storefront's large broken windows. It was a small minimart near home, seldom visited as a kid, but now more important than ever. There was no point in checking the shelves. They were largely picked clean during the first couple weeks. Most of what's left is in the storerooms and freezers is toward the back. He did, however, scan each aisle, just in case there are any less-than-savory residents. After convincing himself that the front was all clear, he headed for the back.

He approached from one side of the store, so as to have any and all possible threats lined up in one direction with a clear shot. Upon reaching the back, he immediately notices a suspicious body on the ground, propped up against the side of a shelf. It's head hung limply forward, it's face not visible. Most notably, it's hands were caked in dried blood. "Best not to take any chances."

Lance puts away the flashlight in his coat pocket, and the trench spike in it's sheath, respectively. As he unslings his rifle from his shoulder, he murmurs to himself, "... feels off..." With that, the figure's head suddenly jerked up to face him, glazed eyes firmly locked on it's prey, and in a blur of movement, it had stood itself up, and was running head long in Lance's direction. His eyes widened in brief surprise, but he quickly forced himself to regain focus.

Realizing that he can't raise his rifle in time, swearing under his breath, he executes a diveroll off to the side. The corpse attempts to turn to follow the roll, but with it's momentum, still carrying it forward, it trips sideways, hits the ground with a thud, and slides a couple feet into a shelf. Lance, in his new prone position, takes the opportunity to aim his rifle. At the same time, the cadaver is already getting back on it's feet. Thinking quick, he shoots it in the knee cap, and watches it stumble back down. Before it can even begin to crawl toward him, he send a piece of lead between it's eyes, blood spattering on the wall behind. He set down the rifle and sighed deeply. "Heh. Glad I didn't take any chances."

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11:43 AM

He relished over the finds he made at the minimart. A box worth of spam, some vacuum sealed meat still in the freezers and sweet tea, and a small assortment of about 14 cans of food. Apparently the freezers were very well insulated, he thought. They were still a tad chill.

He stood outside the store, eyeing the shopping center warily in his olive drab coat, a fairly comfortable pair of brown boots, and a pair of camoflauged jeans he had colored and dyed himself in his free time.

"It's been a few months... Strange how there's so few zeds now. They're probably dispersing more evenly over the land, even outside the city. Eh, note to self; keep an eye out for a tape recorder." He glances at a crow nearby, picking at a rotting chunk of flesh. "s'pose I should be thankful animals are immune to it... but only the birds and smallest critters remain. Zeds don't discriminate when it comes to flesh. Heh. Normally, a person'd call you crazy for talking to yourself aloud, but for me, it helps you cope when you're alone. Your mind creates a listener. Just keeps you that much more sane, I guess." He picks up a bicycle he used to get to the store, mounts, and begins peddling down the street. Occasionally glancing at the randomly parked cars in the streets and generally open spaces, he keeps an eye out for salvageable supplies.

After snatching a few spark plugs from a truck cab, he notes three shambling silhouettes off into the distance, further down the street. He smirks. "Target practice."

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2:05 PM

She appeared worn and stressed, but very much alive. She looked... familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. She wore black slacks, converse, and a white t-shirt underneath a black vest. Dark skinned, with short hair in a fauxhawk, he couldn't shake the feeling that he knows this person. She was young, without a doubt, but he'd have to get closer to be able to tell for sure. She kicked it in the knee, easily breaking the now-brittle bone. As it collapsed, she stomps a foot right onto it's chest holding it down. She grabs a crowbar within reach. Grasping it with both hands, she rams the flattened side through the corpse's eye socket. Catching a flash of movement at the edge of her peripheral vision, she yanks the crowbar out of the skull of the first, and she swings the curved side blindly, nailing the zed through the temple. She lets out a sigh of relief and watches the body fall back onto the pavement. She winces for a moment upon hearing the sound of it's skull shattering on the asphalt.

She leans against the hood of a car to take a breather. She watches the sky, as the clouds drift as peacefully as they always have, apparently uncaring of the catastrophe below. Jade jumped, surprised by the crack of a rifle, followed by a thud. Her eyes widened when she turned to see a freshly slain infected; the source of the thud, no doubt. She spun for a moment, looking for the source of the rifle fire, and stops upon seeing Lance approaching from down the street, resting his SKS on his shoulders nonchalantly, he smiles and waves. She sighs, relieved, and waves back. She hollers, "Hey!" That voice, Lance thought. Once he was about 30 yards away, he immediately recognized her face. He dropped his rifle where he stood, and with a gleeful grin, he burst into a sprint. She was initially taken aback by this, but then she too recognized the other. They made contact in what could be called a cross between a bear hug and a light tackle. Lance couldn't contain the excitement of knowing that his best friend was still alive. Jade's eyes began to well up with tears. "I thought I was the only one left." Lance puts on an awry grin at this, "Apparently not." He chuckled. They pulled back a tad, but still holding onto one another. "Are there any others left?", she inquired. He grimaced. "... No, not that I know of. Not locally, at least." Her gaze fell with a frown. "But hey! If we survived this long, surely some of the others must have too, right?" She nods in agreeance. "I hope so..."


End file.
